


Wish Granted

by UberDuper



Category: Hotline Miami (Video Games)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:24:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UberDuper/pseuds/UberDuper
Summary: A hunter hides from his prey and finds his will to go on slipping.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this while i was finishing up hotline miami 2. blood money is awful and i want to cry.

Tony hadn't ever panicked like this before. In fact, he can't remember the last time he panicked, period. So then, he figured, this was what panic was. Slowly making his way down a hallway, supporting Corey with one arm and leading Mark with the other. It was a miracle that he had found them at all, considering the state the two of them were in.

Tony risked a glance backwards. The hallway was empty, though he heard the sound of footsteps echoing from far off. So they were coming. Fine, let them. He also noticed the huge trail of blood they left behind them, oozing from Corey's abdomen and Mark's head. The smell invaded his nose through all of the rips and tears that his mask held, and for the first time in his life, Tony felt sick at the metallic smell of it.

At the end of the hallway, Tony kicked open the door there, letting out a string of curses at what he saw. It was a god damned closet. There was nowhere else to go.

“Fuck.” That was all Tony could think of to say. The footsteps behind them grew louder. “Fucking damn it.” The Russians were coming and all the three had to defend themselves with were his fists. This was some ass.

“Ugh...” Mark groaned, one of his hands pressed against the wound on his temple. “My head hurts...”

“I know, asshole, I know. Just fucking... put pressure on it, or something,” Tony growled back, nudging Mark into the closet with his shoulder, using both arms to pull Corey into the room with them. In the distance, Tony noticed her mask laying on the floor, the white of it stained with blood. Damn it.

“Tony...” Corey murmured, arms limp and skin pale.

“What?” He snapped, pulling her legs the rest of the way in and kicking the door shut. A quick glance down showed him that Corey was simply shaking her head, staring at her bloodstained hands. “For fuck's sake.”

A thump behind the two made Tony nearly jump, whirling around to find that Mark had sat down near the side of the closet, the hand on his head having fallen to the side and his mask tossed to the side. He was staring blankly at the wall, and Tony frowned.

“Just what the hell do you think you're doing?” The tiger asked Mark, laying Corey carefully on the ground. She let out a pathetic sound, and then settled down. He stormed over, forcefully grabbing Mark's hand and pressing it against the wound. Crimson oozed from between Mark's fingers, and Tony glared at it, as if that would help the blood stay in his body. “What part of 'put pressure on it' didn't you understand? And don't shut up on me now.”

“...What?” Mark asked, his gaze becoming more focused as he turned to look at Tony, hand staying on his temple when Tony moved away.

“If you keep _talking_ that's how I know you're alive, idiot.” Tony replied, quickly making his way back over to Corey. “And you. Don't fucking die on me.” Corey looked up at him blankly, her eyes slowly shifting away after a moment.

“...Mmm.” She replied, struggling to sit up.

“Don't you 'mmm' me.” Tony snarled, lifting her up so that her back was on his lap. He pressed his hands against her stomach, pushing on the bullet wound there. She flinched, which Tony was glad for. At least she was still responding to shit. Outside, the sound of footsteps got louder and quicker. Tony swore again.

“Hey man,” Mark began, his voice slurred. “Do you think... we can get pizza after this?... I'm ready to bail...”

“Sure. We'll get fuckin' twenty pizzas when we get back to the hideout.” Tony replied, removing his hands from Corey's stomach. He wiped the blood off onto his jeans and stood up, ready to face the Russians outside of the room. Before he could, however, the sound of a shotgun firing caught his attention. Somebody was killing them.

Tony stalked over to the door, cracking it slightly and peering outside. He was rewarded with the sight of a man in a white suit with stringy black hair dispatching one of the mobsters there with a singular shot to the head. With a shotgun. What the fuck.

The man turned towards the door, and Tony locked eyes with him. This had to be the guy. The one that attacked Corey and Mark. He matched what little details Tony had gotten out of the two before they became incoherent. Tony watched as the man threw the shotgun to the side and grinned. That was how he was gonna play this?

“Come on then!” Tony bellowed, throwing the door open. “Come fucking get me then!” He took a singular step out of the closet before stopping. The man started sprinting down the hallway, and Tony reared back a fist when he noticed the man stooping down. Tony's eyes flicked downwards, widening when he saw what the man was going for. Another shotgun. Tony jumped back into the room, slamming the door and stumbling back as it blocked a cluster of shotgun pellets, the projectiles embedding themselves in the wood and throwing chips of it into Tony's eyes.

The man laughed, a loud and echoing sound, before he continued walking. Tony glanced backwards, finding Mark babbling to himself and Corey laying on her back, taking quick, shallow breaths. This was the end, huh? At the sound of a door opening, however, Tony perked up. He cracked the door again in time to see the man toss the shotgun to the side and exit the hallway. Tony frowned. Where the hell were Alex and Ash?

“I'm... tired.” Mark suddenly said, slowly laying himself down onto his back. “Wake me up... when the food gets here...”

“Oh no. No no no.” Tony scrambled over to the bear of a man, dropping to his knees at Mark's side. Blood was, somehow, still flowing out of Mark's head, and it began slowly pooling on the tiled floor. “No you don't, Mark!” Tony yelled, grabbing his collar. “You don't get to fucking die on me! Get up right now! Mark!”

“It'll just... for one minute... five more minutes...” Mark replied, shakily placing a hand on Tony's knee. “I'll be up later...”

“No! No!” Tony shook Mark's collar, trying to pull him into a sitting position. “Get up you fat piece of shit! I didn't say you could sleep!” His shaking did nothing, and Tony could only watch helplessly as Mark smiled at him. “Fuck!”

“Man... fuck you too...” Mark laughed, letting his eyes slip shut.

“...Damn it.” Tony let Mark's collar go, letting the other man's body settle into the ground. “If you don't fucking wake up later, I swear to god.” Tony knew his words were useless, knew that they meant nothing, but he had to say them anyway. He wouldn't let that bastard get the last word.

* * *

 

Tony wasn't sure how long it had been. All he knew was that the sound of sirens finally caught his attention. He blinked a few times, hearing footsteps storm through the hallway. They weren't footsteps like from before, like the scared and frantic steps of Russians scrambling away from his fists. No, these held purpose and organization. They were here for him.

Tony sighed, lightly moving Corey's body off of his lap. She had gone not long after Mark had, attempting to get some sort of shitty last words out. Tony knew they wouldn't have mattered. Nobody else would have wanted to listen to them. Her blood had soaked into his jeans, staining the gray denim black. Outside, he could hear the shouts of policemen and the way they clambered into position. Let them take him. He was done fighting.

A thick silence settled over the room as the sounds of the hallway died out, though Tony swore that he could hear the faint sound of yelling from down the hall. The yelling stopped, and a singular pair of footsteps began approaching the door. All Tony could do was clench his fists, standing still in the middle of the room.

The door swung open, and the man that stepped in didn't look like a police officer. Tony frowned behind his mask. The man, dirty blonde with a brown coat, stared at him with a look that he could only describe as hatred. At his side, clenched in his hand, Tony spied a revolver. The man spoke up and closed the door behind him.

“Well, what do we have here? Wearing masks, huh?”

 

 


End file.
